


It's Just Logistics

by Captain_Loki



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amusement Parks, Angst and Humor, Fluff, M/M, POV Derek Hale, Pack Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on the prompt: Derek isn't horribly fond of amusement parks until he gets the chance to see them through Stiles' eyes.</p><p>Or the one where they go to Disneyland and the pack is full of sneaky shipping bastards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just Logistics

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in Disneyland, I have only ever been to Disney World and while I did some research and had a friend who's obsessed with Disneyland talk to me about Disneyland with the excitement of a five year old child some of the information may not be 100% accurate BUT...
> 
> if there is something glaringly inaccurate that is just a total fail feel free to let me know

Derek Hale will freely admit that he hates theme parks. Everything is pressed too close together and it’s all garishly painted plastic and plaster and everything is _fake,_ even and especially the people. The employees forced under his feet where he hears their heartbeats and learns all the latest gossip whether he wants it or not. And it smells like greasy half eaten foods in bins of trash set out in the hot sun all day and dry kid sick and the sweat of a thousand bodies pressed too close together and milling in _swarms_ , a mad throng of B.O clinging to shirts littered with dried snot and old condiments.

He hates having to work too hard to tune everything out, the wailing music and the high pitched echoing screams bouncing at him from every direction. Mostly, though he hates how much it reminds him of the vacations he used to go on as a child, family reunions with the whole pack spilling out of family cars, humans and wolves alike, chasing his sisters and cousins through the crowd and picking up the thread of his mother’s (and alpha’s) heartbeat.

When Stiles turns eighteen though, like any normal teenager on the cusp of adulthood, he celebrates by buying a pack of cigarettes he won’t smoke, a porn magazine Derek is sure gets lost in the clutter of his messy bedroom, and caps it all off with a trip to Disneyland. He extends his invitation to the entire group (even Peter, albeit a little indifferently) but Derek refuses point blank. Lydia gives him a very hard look behind Stiles’ back, and Derek may be finally headed towards becoming the Alpha he’d always imagined himself to be, but Lydia’s gaze reminds him strongly of his mother and it’s a look that books no argument.

“You have to go,” she says simply. Stiles flicks his gaze to her and then back to Derek, nodding sagely.

“Why?” Derek challenges.

“Because, without you there’s an uneven number of people and that is just poor planning logistically.” She says, smoothly. Stiles nods again, and he brings his hands up to clasp together in a plea.

Which is how he finds himself behind the wheel of a rented minivan driving down the interstate to Anaheim one Wednesday morning, the whole pack piled into the back loud and boisterous.

He’d be lying if he said their energy, bright and palpable, wasn’t infectious, and for the first time in a long time he feels at home. It’s the first time in years he’s felt like he was part of a real family, instead of a group of distrusting, ever suspicious allies with thin threadlike ties to one another. Stiles is sitting next to him in the passenger’s seat, body turned to the back seat where he’s playing ‘Go Fish’ with Scott because Scott is the worst poker player and Stiles thinks even for his birthday it would be too much like robbing.

It’s late in the morning when they finally arrive, tumbling out of the car and gathering in an awkward fumbling cluster in line. Scott pushes Stiles’ hand away from where he reaches for his wallet with an exclamation of, “Dude it’s your birthday!” The group chips in to cover Stiles’ fee, Derek sliding a few too many bills across the till because he’s always felt a little awkward about money. Stiles beams happily and kisses Scott sloppily at the temple and Scott grimaces around a grin and shoves him away.

It’s not as crowded as Derek had been expecting, but he suspects his betas are in for a rude awakening the first ride they go on. He’s not sure any of them have ever been to an amusement park since turning. The way Isaac is sniffing at the air as they pass the clustered line of refreshment stands makes Derek smirk a little vindictively.

“Can we do the Buzz Lightyear one first?” Stiles asks, pulling open a park map and trailing an index down the page until he finds what he’s looking for, starts heading in that direction without waiting for an answer. The group trails after him without argument though. Erica is bouncing excitedly at Boyd’s side and he bumps his shoulder with hers.

“This is the first time…since the epilepsy?” He asks and she gives him a sad private kind of look before smiling wide.

“I’ve never been able to before. Most of the stuff it’s too risky to be entertaining and…” she trails off with a shrug and Derek pats her on the back as they push their way into the short queue in the winding stile in front of the ride. Lydia was, unsurprisingly, right about the practicality of Derek’s presence, if nothing else. He and Stiles end up crammed in the tiny car together, Stiles all elbows as he turns to shoot the aliens popping up in all directions. Derek isn’t paying much attention, his score is pretty abysmal when they make it out of the ride (and back in again and again and again). He’s too busy watching the way the light catches in Stiles’ wide eyes, the look of focus etched into his features, eyebrows raised high on his head and pink tongue poking out of the side of his mouth, his long, thin fingers wrapped around the bright plastic gun.

“Wow, you suck!” Stiles tells him, happily, turning to give Derek a wide and lopsided grin. Stiles doesn’t wait for a response though before he tumbles out of the car as the conveyer belt jerks to a halt at the exit.

“Space Mountain! Space Mountain!” He shouts, looking around at the group for affirmation before taking off. Derek rolls his eyes at the eight year old in the small family beside them yelling the same thing. Stiles gives the boy a high five when he lets him win their unspoken race to be the first in the gathering line. By the time they make it to the front Stiles has learned most of Tommy’s life history, including his plan to trade his baby sister in for souvenirs.

“I bet she’ll fetch at least a couple of Mickey Mouse hats, easy,” Stiles tells him.

“I want a stuffed goofy.”

“Might have to sweeten the pot. Maybe if I sell this guy, we could do it,” Stiles tells Tommy, elbowing Derek in the ribs. Tommy stares up at him as though considering.

“I dunno, he doesn’t look like he’d be very cooperative.” Derek thinks Stiles works himself into a cramp laughing so hard, Derek scowls at him, Stiles still clutching at a stitch in his side even as he flops ungracefully into a seat at the front of the rollercoaster.

“I hope you fall out,” Derek informs him.

“Liar,” Stiles says from in front of him. “Every pack needs a sarcastic sidekick and it’d be far too much effort to break someone new in at this point.”

“I dunno, Tommy could be a decent replacement,” Derek says.

“He was definitely perceptive,” Stiles laughs. Stiles’ next sentence gets lost as the ride starts, but Derek can just make out, “worth way more than a stuffed…” before the grinding clank of the gears beneath them swallows the rest of his thought.

They spend the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon bouncing from ride to ride, Stiles seeming to be determined to hit as much of the park as possible. They eat overly priced and under quality food for lunch, Stiles eats his weight in French fries and fried dough.

“We’re supposed to go on the teacups after, you’re going to make yourself sick,” Lydia tells him. Stiles and Scott shake their heads with simultaneous enthusiasm.

“Stomach of _steel_ ,” Stiles says, pounding on his abs. Scott nods, “we once ate like twenty corndogs a piece and went on the Screamin’ coaster. Didn’t puke once.”

“Charming,” Lydia nods and Erica laughs.

After lunch Stiles stretches, rubs his stomach idly and belches with enthusiasm, “my gift to you,” he tells Derek, “for buying lunch.”

“Thanks,” he deadpans and Stiles grins. “Where next? Teacups?” He asks.

“I’d rather somewhere _dark_ ,” Allison suggests, coyly, slipping her hand into Scott’s and biting her lip. Scott gives her a dopey besotted expression and allows himself to be dragged off, offering Stiles an apologetic look as he goes. Derek had been waiting for it all morning and judging by the eye roll and the wave of his hand, Stiles was too. Scott and Allison had been off again on again throughout much of high school but with things finally settling down it seemed to be sticking in the on direction.

“I need to go on splash mountain,” Erica tells the group, waiting for someone to join her. Boyd moves to her side with an agreeable shrug and she bounces on her (heeled) feet.

“C’mon Jackson,” Lydia demands, “I want to get a princess makeover,” she says, waiting impatiently. Jackson scowls, tips his head back but does what he’s told.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he offers her. Lydia lifts a manicured eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

“Lucky for you Jackson, it won’t take long,” Stiles tells her. Lydia turns to him with a pleased smile and stands up on her tip toes to kiss Stiles on the arch of a cheekbone. Stiles grins happily and flushes beneath her lips as she pulls away.

“Thank you, Stiles,” she says warmly, shooting a glare to Jackson who gives Stiles a mulish sort of look and trails after Lydia. Derek’s stomach does uncomfortable things at the lovesick expression on Stiles’ face, he blames it on amusement park food, but Peter is giving him a knowing sort of look.

“You guys in?” Stiles asks them, noticing nothing. Peter shakes his head and puts a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, steering him away from Derek and Stiles.

“I think we’re going to go find the Peter Pan ride,” Peter says with a smirk. Stiles pulls a face, “that’s not creepy at all, not even a little bit.” Derek watches them go a little bewildered.

Derek shuffles awkwardly and a moment of silence passes between them.

“You can…I mean you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to,” Stiles offers, rubbing at the back of his head.

“And leave you alone on your birthday?” Derek asks.

“No one else seemed particularly bothered,” Stiles huffs. Derek looks away towards the places where the pairings of his pack disappeared.

“Yeah…” he wonders, suspicious.

“Anyway…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Derek shrugs and Stiles grins.

“Cool, c’mon, before there’s a line.”

The line for the tea cups is long and without the pack jostling around them it’s quiet and slightly awkward. Stiles sits on the metal fence and swings his legs back and forth in a precisely frowned upon way but no one bothers them. As the line moves Stiles scoots down slowly and obnoxiously, bouncing on his ass to jostle himself the short distance.

“You’re going to fall,” Derek tells him. Stiles scoffs, “Impossible. I’m one with it, for it is stiles and I am stiles and together we—“ he makes a yelping sound as overbalances and Derek’s arm comes out to fist in the loose material of his shirt to keep him from sliding backwards.

“You’re an idiot,” Derek sighs, righting him. Stiles smirks at him and hops off.

When they finally make it onto the ride, Stiles grabs Derek’s forearm in a tight grip and steers him to a bright pink teacup at the back of the ride.

“Alright, it’s not fun if you don’t feel like you’re gonna die, so I’m counting on your wolf powers to spin this bitch like you’re trying to throw the Earth off its axis, you feel me?” Stiles informs him and he grips the metal wheel in the middle of the teacup tightly. Derek huffs out a laugh and slides in opposite him. Their knees bump as Derek settles, fits his leg between Stiles’ and holds on, fingers brushing. Stiles is smiling at him and Derek can feel the excitement rolling off him in waves, a pleasant sort of buzzing just beneath his flushed skin.

The ride starts and it’s only a moment later that the cup is spinning alarmingly fast. Stiles made good on his promise of stomach of steel and he’s laughing hard, hands knocking into Derek’s as he tries to help, eventually giving up, letting Derek do the work. He slides in the slippery plastic seat until he’s squashed against Derek’s side, bare legs pressed against his own denim clad ones. He smells like sweat and deodorant, the ketchup he dumped on his fries at lunch and the salt still traced at the corners of his mouth. Stiles laughs high and bright in his ear where they’re pressed together, his hands on Derek’s thigh, bracing himself as he slips.

When it’s over Stiles knocks into him as they climb out of the teacup, trips and Derek catches him. He’s still giggling, wobbling on jelly legs as Derek pulls him back into the line. “I want to go again,” Derek says simply. The second and third time Stiles doesn’t bother clambering in opposite him, seats himself firmly beside Derek stretching his arms out to grip the plastic edges of the teacup, watching Derek spin them, smile on his face to mirror Derek’s own.

As the afternoon drags on Stiles manages to convince Derek to go with him to California Adventure Park. Later, somehow, they end up playing arcade games on the Boardwalk and Stiles pouts aggressively, lamenting the fact that there aren’t any prizes for him to win. “You’d never win anyway, and you’d spend your entire life savings just trying to prove you could,” Derek points out.

“Ugh, still, what am I going to show for my feats of strength?” Stiles asks.

“An empty wallet and memories?” Derek offers. They end up playing a shooting game and Derek forks over $10 for the two of them. Stiles is a better shot than Derek would have given him credit for. He, however, only manages to shoot down two of the targets that spring up. When he looks over Stiles is watching him with a poorly concealed grin.

“This game is stupid,” he says, pushing the gun away.

“She’s doing okay,” Stiles says, nodding to the little girl being propped up on her father’s knee beside them. Derek can feel his face heat and he scowls at Stiles who’s barely containing his laughter now. Derek huffs out a breath, berating himself for plunging his hand back into his wallet and pushing more money over to the grinning girl behind the counter.

He still loses miserably and Stiles is tugging him away. “It’s okay, I know if it came down to it you could rip the throats out of all of those mean metal bulls eyes.” Derek glares at him but he moves to the next booth, determined. It’s a ring tossing game and he loses several times, is down about $50 at this point when, in a list ditch effort to save face, hurls the heavy plastic ring. His aim is _way_ off and it smacks a metal brace with enough force to break it. The attendant shouts and jumps a foot in the air as shrapnel whirls at he and Stiles, who ducks, the metal scrap catches Derek in the side of the head however. It stings but it doesn’t hurt that bad but he can tell from the wide eyed shock of the ashen faced attendant and Stiles’ look of deeply inappropriate amusement that it’s _bad_. He feels the blood then, gushing down the side of his face.

“Oh my God! I have a first aid kit or should I call 9-1-1 oh my God I am going to get fired, let me find something I need towels or water or should you sit down?!” The teenager managing the stall flails in a panic, but Derek can already feel the gash healing over and Stiles’ eyes widen and he clamps a hand over the injury and says, “naw he’s fine, had worse. Looks worse than it is trust me!”

“It looked _bad_ ,” she points out. People are starting to stare now and Derek shakes his head.

“I’m fine, really.”

“Yeah, it was a nosebleed,” Stiles says, nodding, and Derek hits him. In the end she hands him a towel which Derek clamps to his head to hide the lack of injury and for fear of either being fired or Derek suing them she gives both of them gift vouchers for the souvenir shop for $100 each and they flee. Once out of earshot Stiles doubles over laughing, has to sit down on a bench to catch his breath.

“Oh my _God_ ,” he wheezes, “her _face_.”

“That was terrible,” Derek says, “was it that bad?” He asks. Stiles laughs, “Dude pieces of your face were peeling off.”

“You were laughing,” Derek points out.

“I’m a twisted individual.”

“I’ve noticed,” Derek says, touching the fresh spot with the tips of his fingers. Stiles pokes at himself and Derek thinks about batting his hand away but lets him, instead.

“You’re alright though, and hey free stuff. You should get injured in public more often,” Stiles jokes.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll throw myself in front of a car on the way out see if we can’t snag some free passes.”

“Sounds like a pretty good birthday present to me,” Stiles says. Derek rolls his eyes but watches Stiles face as he continues to gingerly press the callused pads of his fingers against the side of Derek’s forehead.

“Here,” Derek says quietly, as Stiles’ hands fall away. He folds up the voucher and tucks it into the pocket of Stiles’ loose shorts.

 

It’s evening, the sun starting to slip below the horizon, sky growing steadily and steadily darker, the lights in the park twinkling softly in the twilight and growing brighter with every passing moment. Stiles wonders aloud if they should call the others. Derek shrugs, indifferently, but he wants to say no, wants to take both their cell phones and pitch them off the side of the next ride and never leave. Stiles is warm and calm beside him the bubbling energy from the early morning winding down now to a peaceful sort of contentment.

“Not yet,” he says, emboldened and Stiles turns his head away from the screen of his cell phone and smiles at him, shoves the phone back into his pocket and swings his arms.

“Yeah, where to?” He asks. Derek shrugs again, but jerks his head towards the Mickey Ferris Wheel, shining like a beacon over the top of the crowd. He notices it then, a slight change in Stiles’ scent, and the blip of his heartbeat but then Stiles is nodding with a grin and Derek doesn’t mention it.

“Awesome, yeah,” he says, leading the way there. There’re are only a few people in line when they approach and it’s just a short wait until they’re being herded into a bright green car, Stiles’ smile falters for a brief moment and he asks, “these ones swing?”

“Oh…I dunno, yeah I think so?” Derek answers, craning his neck to look up at the ride but he’s not sure. Stiles nods his head and settles into the seat beside Derek, a teenage couple ushered into the seats opposite them. Derek notices it again as they climb steadily upward, Stiles looking decidedly anywhere but out the windows and Derek watches him, the slope of his nose and the arch of his brow, the way his lips are parted on a shaky sort of breath that hitches when they reach the peak and stop their ascent, cart swinging back and forth.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, softly. Stiles nods and looks at him, a faint blush reddening the curve of his cheeks.

“I uh…I’m afraid of heights,” he admits, looking away. Derek starts, surprised, “Oh. I’m sorry…you should have said—“

“No, it’s fine. I…I dunno I like it,” Stiles tells him and Derek can hear the thread of his pulse quickening.

“I feel bad,” Derek tells him. Stiles shrugs and shakes his head, “You didn’t know. Besides, this is the only ride you requeste—ah,” Stiles sentence chokes off as the car lurches and sways and Stiles lets his eyes shut, his fingers clutching as if of their own accord in the tight fabric of Derek’s jeans at his thighs. Derek swallows heavily, shifts slightly in his seat and Stiles looks apologetic and embarrassed but Derek drapes an arm around his shoulders, thumb brushing just beneath the edge of his sleeve and the skin there where it’s broken into goosebumps. Stiles reaches for his hand and Derek takes it, intertwines their fingers and squeezes reassuringly.

“This used to be my favorite, when I was a kid,” Derek tells him and Stiles looks at him. “We’d come here sometimes on vacation, the whole pack.”

“I used to come every year,” Stiles tells him, leg twitching nervously against Derek’s. “But when my mom got sick…I haven’t been back since.”

“Neither have I,” Derek admits. Stiles shifts in his seat, moves lower, and Derek wraps his arm more tightly around him. “Sorry everyone abandoned you then,” Derek laughs, nervously. Stiles shrugs and Derek can hear his heartbeat ratchet up a notch once more.

“I’m not,” he says, quiet. Derek doesn’t say anything, but when they make it off the ride a couple of minutes later, Stiles looking decidedly relieved, he doesn’t pull away from Derek and he slips his hand out of Derek’s right just long enough to replace it with Derek’s left.

It’s about almost nine when Lydia calls, sounding exhausted and haughty and says everyone else is ready to leave. Stiles’ scent twangs with a bitterness that he recognizes as disappointment but he agrees and asks where they should meet. Before they head back towards the parking lot and the rest of the pack waiting by the van Stiles pulls out the vouchers from his front pocket and looks at Derek expectantly.

Stiles spends most of the money on souvenirs for everyone, including his father (a stuffed mickey in a sheriff’s costume which Stiles finds way funnier than is in reality). He wanders around for another fifteen minutes though until Derek sighs and pulls out his phone, several angry text messages from irate pack members.

“C’mon, they’ll leave without us,” Derek warns him.

“I’m looking for the perfect thing, hold on,” Stiles whines.

“For who?” Derek sighs. Stiles turns and grins at him, “you, obviously.”

“I don’t even want anything,” Derek tells him, honestly. He was never one for pointless, overpriced merchandise, even as a kid.

“I have to,” Stiles tells him and he looks serious enough about it that Derek doesn’t argue. He pulls Derek down one more aisle and his eyes light up, widening in a comic fashion and he nods enthusiastically. Derek tries to see where his line of sight is headed and looks at Stiles, bewildered.

“Perfect,” Stiles nods. He slips his hand out of Derek’s and makes a beeline to a large stuffed Eeyore.

“Are you serious?” Derek asks.

“This is perfect! Come on you are _so_ Eeyore!”

“I am _not_ ,” Derek hisses, annoyed.

“Either that or the grumpy old rabbit, your choice.”

“Laura used to…” Derek starts, without thinking, he slams his mouth closed. “Nevermind.”

“What? Laura used to what?” Stiles asks, curious, waggling the stuffed animal in front of him.

“Nothing.”

“C’mon!”

“No,” Derek shakes his head, feels his face heat up, turns to stalk back towards the entrance.

“Is this about your bunny teeth?” Stiles asks from behind him. Derek twitches and turns around.

“What?”

“You have bunny teeth,” Stiles tells him.

“I do not!”

“It is! Isn’t it!” Stiles laughs, claps a hand over his mouth. Derek tightens his lips and Stiles cuddles the eeyore to his chest.

“C’mon! Open your mouth and show me your bunny teeth,” Stiles taunts, he pokes a finger into Derek’s lip and tries to weedle it into his mouth. Derek jerks his head back and shoves his hand away.

“Stop it,” Derek says, grasping Stiles by the wrist.

“I love your teeth,” Stiles tells him, and his voice is suddenly soft and sincere and he’s smiling at Derek with the kind of affection he’s only ever seen him give to Scott or Lydia and Derek wonders suddenly if he missed it. If maybe he’s smiled like that for him before and he’d never noticed it, wonders how he could have. He pulls Stiles closer and darts forward without warning, captures Stiles pliant and soft mouth against his.

Stiles makes a gasping sort of sigh, breathy and pleasured and Derek drops Stiles wrist from his hand and moves them to clutch at his waist. Stiles’ arms fall around Derek’s neck as he presses himself closer, tilts his head to give Derek better access and they kiss without heat or frenzy but slow and careful blocked by towering shelves bursting with toys.

When they finally make it back to the car, hand in hand, they don’t say anything and neither does the rest of the group, but Peter is sitting behind the wheel and the back seat of the van is empty. Derek moves in first and Stiles trails in after him, lumbers around the edge of the seat in front and lands half in Derek’s lap, but neither of them complains. Stiles folds himself neatly against Derek’s side, Eeyore cushioned in his lap, he rests his head against Derek’s shoulder and Derek throws an arm around him. They doze off on the long, quiet ride back to Beacon Hills, both pointedly ignoring the triumphant looks on their friend’s faces as they sneak glances to the back seat.


End file.
